


Full Bloom

by Tirxmishu



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: A little experiment about character dynamics, Cad is there because i love him, Empire kids ftw, F/F, F/M, Featuring conflicted fire mage Caleb, Festive Dancing, Fluff, Okay so maybe I added evil flowers, Pining, and Beau "if even one of my friends are sad I will combust" lionett, idk about most of the campaign i forgot rip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirxmishu/pseuds/Tirxmishu
Summary: “What do you mean about feelings? About Beauregard?”“Well let’s just say, when winter fades, the spring blossoms are not the only things that will bloom.”Caleb’s eyebrows raise, “Oh?” he turns his head towards Beau’s retreating form, squinting his eyes slightly, ruminating about what Caduceus has just said. Has Beauregard grown fond of something?
Relationships: Jester Lavorre & Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett, Yeza Brenatto/Nott
Comments: 2
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

Caleb is openly opposed to most, if not all forms of physical fitness. He couldn’t be bothered to lift himself one foot off the air to jump, let alone mandate an entire exercise routine. Why would he? Being a student of the arcane arts, he only ever needs to weave his spells together. That requires his intellect. Brawn is useless to him. 

And yet, that doesn’t stop him from being impressed with Beauregard as she hauls herself up and down the metal bar fixated between the woodwork of her doorway for what seems like— the fiftieth? No— the hundredth time. It is a silent admiration of her discipline.

“You are not tired, Beauregard?”

The muscles her in her arms bulge, straining as she tugs herself upward again, “Huh? Oh nah,” her head turns toward him for a brief moment before she resumes her rhythmic rise and fall, “I’m just getting started.”

To an outsider, what she said might come across as being too self-assured but Caleb knows that it was her merely stating a fact. Which, he understands because she is as sure of her physicality as he is of the book weighing heavily on his lap. You put your confidence in the weapon you wield.

His back straightens, now parallel to the stone wall behind him, not exactly touching the cool grey surface. “I see. I will leave you to it, then.”

There is that urgent hesitancy in his tone, putting stress on the end of his sentence, that makes her stop her training. She suspends herself mid pull-up, brows furrowing, “Why? Do you need anything?”

Withholding his emotions is his first instinct, to not speak of the things that loom over in his conscience. Soot covered fingers gingerly trace the spinal frame of the bleached leather tome. Caleb’s shoulders tense further, “No, no, I was just wondering,” his chest expands, words coming out in a shaky reverb, “…I couldn’t help but wonder how you do not get tired. It must be exhausting to do those pull-ups after the fight, _yes_?”

Gold piercings rise with the disbelieving lift of her eyebrow. Her grip relaxes on the bar and she drops her weight down on the wooden floor, landing with a dull thud, “O-kay…yeah, I call bullshit on that.” Her arms stretch out above her as she inhales deeply. There’s a pleasant burn in her biceps and the corded muscles shift as she swings them back down lifelessly, letting out a satisfied sigh. 

Caleb looks ahead then closes his eyes tightly as he hears the steady footfalls of his friend approach him. His lips press together in a straight line and he internally curses himself for his lack of control at the moment. He doesn’t flinch as Beau neatly folds herself beside him. There’s so sound of her slumping against the wall, so whether she’s mimicking his tense posture in solidarity or discomfort, he doesn’t know.

A heavy pause settles between them, weighing down on their shoulders. It is a moment of reprieve from the action that they just went through, from that constant buzz of activity that surrounds them.

“You…got something on your mind?”

The corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly at the awkwardness in her tone, pleasantly surprised by how she managed to sound pacifying at the same time. Honestly, he’s sure that if she had asked in any other way, he would have gone skittering back to his room to get lost in his isolation. After considering lying, he quickly drops the idea and braves himself to confide in her.

“There are a lot of things that I think to be... or rather, that I _feel are,_ too catastrophic to be said out loud.”

Even if what he said went over her head, her brow creases sympathetically, “What kind of things? Is this, like, about what happened today? In that cave?”

It only took a simple mention of the cave for him to feel as if he is back in there with the Nein. As if he is breathing in the moldy, dampened, air. As if he still sees the silhouettes of Nott and Beauregard in the unsettled mist, sees them drop lifelessly against the ground. As if Jester’s panicked yell is still echoing in the cavern. As if he could hear the groaning of half-undead humanoid creatures staggering towards his unconscious friends. As if the smell of burning, rotting flesh was still stinging his nose. As if he were back to where the fire blazed and fumed and he could not stop it. He blinks harshly to cease the flashing of the images. “What happened was a catalyst to inspiring these emotions, yes.” Caleb seems open to conversation, but he nevertheless tucks his knees up against his chest, hiding his leather tome pressed between his thigh and chest.

In typical Caleb fashion, it is an answer that tells Beau absolutely nothing. So she waits. She waits for him to reach out to her.

“I fear that I am walking on an overly manicured path down to a destiny that I do not wish to participate in.”

If she were not focused on him, the words would’ve missed her. Beau nods, “Ah. Don’t worry about that. You won’t.”

The response isn’t immediate and Beau doesn’t have to look his way to see his eyes glazing over, his shoulders drooping slightly as he dissociates further into the deeper portions of his mind. “It is not that simple.”

Taking the monotonous tone as a sign that Caleb is once again consumed by the darkness of his mind, she does her best to channel her wisdom, to gently steer him out, “Why…Uh, is there a reason why you think that?”

The silence resumes between both of them and she scratches at her neck, feeling the texture of her undercut prickling against her fingers. She retreats from her line of inquiry, letting her hand fall carefully atop Caleb’s knee, breaking him out of the siren call of his memory.

His body jerks, clearly rattled, though he clears his throat and tries to hide it in his insisting tone, “It is not that simple, Beau.”

“Well no, of course! Yeah, no, I just-,” she cuts herself off, trying to put together her intent into words, “-It’s just… look, it’s not like I know a whole bunch about destiny and shit. I mean, they taught us about Gods and all that at the Cobalt Soul…but it never really stuck with me…”

Caleb lets her speak, taking in what she says.

“It’s just easier when you’re not in control, I guess? Makes an excuse for the shitty things you do, right? But the thing is, none of that matters because you shouldn’t give a shit! You’re not, like, a pawn in Destiny’s game. You’ve got a good head.”

Beau moves her hands in tandem with the rising passion in her voice, which is when Caleb notices the gashes on her knuckles, dried blood smeared across her iron fist. His form goes further rigid as the faint burn marks above her wrists wrappings peek through.

“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t seem like the type of person that would get caught up in the, y’know,” she vaguely waves her free hand in the air, “morally wrong side of things.”

“But I have been on the morally wrong side of things,” his fingers clench themselves into fists, “I have done morally wrong things.”

Beau shrugs, “I mean, yeah. You have. But that’s okay, no one’s going to punish you for that. We’re not exactly one to judge, y’know?”

“I do not know how to avert myself from making worse decisions. You and Nott could have died today. By my hand. It is not something I wish would happen.” Caleb looked lost, dejected in his own idea of being so inadequate to moderate himself and Beau suddenly felt out of her depth, wondering if Caleb wanted her to affirm his own twisted self-image.

“Well, you didn’t. We got out safely, man,” her expression goes resolute, “Think about it, the fact that you’re torturing yourself over the idea of _hurting_ us is reason enough for you to believe that you are redeemable, alright?”

Caleb breathes out a defeated sigh, clearly unaffected by the motivational intent behind Beau’s words. Still, he nods empathetically, as if acknowledging her efforts to offer him perspective.

A distant shuffling breaks the bubble that they formed around them, as Caduceus interferes in his sage tone, “That is a very admirable outlook on a very bleak situation, actually.”

They both turn their heads to see his giant form standing under the archway that separates the common area from the flower garden he tends to, a bucket of water in hand. From the look on his face, it is clear that Caduceus has been listening to the entire interaction.

How did she not see him standing just a few feet away? Beau’s brow crinkles in honest confusion, “Thanks, Caduceus?”

“Your welcome, Beau. Mind if I join you? I can heal you right up, Caleb,” he gracefully walks over to them, places the bucket next to Caleb’s still dwarfed form and bends over to look at the dirt and grime smudged on his face, “Oh dear. I might also wipe you down with the rag.”

“That would not be necessary, Caduceus, thank you.”

“Oh, I insist. You still do not look well, my friend,” he produces a white rag from the pocket on his side and dips it in the water, ready to assist Caleb, “Which reminds me, Beau! Jester is asking for you in the garden. You should go since you’re the only one left unhealed. Let her look at that nasty burn before bed.”

Her stomach swoops pleasantly at the sound of Jester’s name and she can already feel her heart rate picking up speed. Though, she’s determined to remain calm, “Oh yeah? Cool, I’ll uh…I’ll go then.” She waves awkwardly when she gets up, walking over to the entrance of the indoor make-shift greenhouse.

Caduceus grins as she goes past him, having taken notice of the slight tilt in her pitch, the bright flash of excitement in her eyes at the mere sound of Jester’s name. “It appears Beau is making peace with her feelings.”

Caleb blinks once as Caduceus gently dabs the rag near his eye, close to cheek, then blinks again at the comment. The gravity of his mood lifts at the sudden shift in the discussion. He once again represses the violent tides of his thoughts.

Seeing his apparent confusion, Caduceus’s eyes soften, “I see you have yet to do that. Must be hard with the things going on in your head, whatever they are.”

“What do you mean about feelings? About Beauregard?”

“Well let’s just say, when winter fades, the spring blossoms are not the only things that will bloom.”

Caleb’s eyebrows raise, “Oh?” he turns his head towards Beau’s retreating form, squinting his eyes slightly, ruminating about what Caduceus has just said. Has Beauregard grown fond of something?

“Indeed. You just lift your arm a little so that I can check on your wound again.” Caduceus tilts his head in fondness, “The spring blossoms are ever so pretty. Just marvelous, the way the morning dew on the petals hit the light makes them look like stars in the night sky.”

With a hum, Caleb relaxes, still wondering about what Caduceus has meant, then humming again as he feels the cold sensation of the magic pulse through the wound covered by a large palm. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. They grow all year but only in the springtime do they truly shine. It’s a process. Slow, creeping, constant. Their growth is very comforting and their scent is even better. So not only are they beautiful in their own right, they make the space around them better too. A marvelous gift by the Wildmother!”

"Really? You would have to show me these spring blossoms, then."

Caduceus smiles widely, continuing his featherlight movements all over Caleb, describing the blessings of the Wildmother with infectious enthusiasm. Soon enough, Caleb finds himself smiling as he closes his eyes, letting the slight sluggishness in his veins fade away as the familiar magic flows through him. The thoughts of destiny and fire and fear fade away further, now replaced only for a moment by images of starlight petals twinkling under the sunshine.


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever Caduceus and Caleb were talking about; not a word reaches Beau's ears. Instead, she’s tunnel visioning on the entrance of the indoor greenhouse, letting the musky, earthen scent of flora invade her senses once she steps inside. The room was partially illuminated by lanterns of intricate metal design, hanging by posts that jut out from the middle of pillars supporting the walls around them.

She takes a moment to admire the space Caduceus has modified into the Xhorhouse, the way it displays the small pieces of the world they traveled across in various troughs, barrels, pots, and basins big and small. It seems as though the room is breathing, as a steady breeze— from where, she does not know— shifts the plants, something that might have spooked her if it were not for her trust in the fact that whatever magic was sustaining the area was not _entirely_ malicious.

When she’s done admiring the room, she carefully weaves her way through the maze of gifts from the Wildmother, stepping over the small overgrowth of mushrooms on the plotted floor. The towering vines cease their climb on the walls till this point and the greenery transitions to the more edible variety. Neatly plowed soil hosts vegetables and flowers, increasing in their uniqueness the further she goes in. The rarest of them all, she suspects, must be the single marble pot elevated on a platform at the far end of the room, encased in the moonlight coming from the small sun-roof above her. Huh, some punk could come in through that and swipe everything under their noses. She needs to chat with Caduceus to at least enchant that thing. Or have Nott trap it.

An impish giggle halts her thoughts. Looking down again, Beau’s eyes find her in an instant. She’s right there, near the stacked up clay pots stored away for later use, kneeling on the silky soil. Her hands move in quick movements, obviously vandalizing the clay surface. 

The monk stops herself from taking another step, looking at her friend, seeing the warm orange undertones of the lantern above her framing her so beautifully. It makes her breath hitch in her throat.

A crunching sound makes her presence known as she clumsily places her foot on the gravelly rocks that divide the plots of mushroom.

Jester's head snaps towards her, "Caduceus! I promise I wasn't doing anything I was just cleaning the pots like you asked me to—"

"Woah! No, hey! It's just me." Beau raises her hands in mock surrender.

The tiefling's shoulders drop in relief, "Oh! you _scared_ me Beau!"'

A small smirk appears on the corner of her mouth, "Uh...you called for me?" Her gaze falls to the broken clay pots around Jester as she makes her way over to her, "What are you up to anyway?"

Jester sheepishly gathers all the broken pieces, "I kinda broke this. Accidently! I know how much Caduceus loved it."

"Is it the one with the Blooming groove painted on it?"

A slow, sullen nod, "Yeah."

Beau gestures behind herself with her thumb, "You know he's got like a whole collection in Fjords room, right?"

The tiefling's eyes widen in shock, "He does?"

"Well...yeah," Beau shrugs casually, "I know because Fjord broke one the other day too. He freaked out, but Cad didn't mind much."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Plus there's no way Caduceus is going to get mad at you."

Hearing her say that, Jester looks ahead, brows scrunched together. Her tail swishes to her side. She looks up again at Beauregard and her face suddenly morphs into a beaming smile, eyes crinkling, "Thank you for telling me, Beau." The resulting smile on Beau's lips kickstarts the beating of her heart like an electric shock. She giggles, bringing her hand to cover her mouth as the familiar tingles in her stomach tickle her.

Jester puts the broken clay pots inside the one she was attempting to paint, adjusting the skirt of her dress as she stands. Her heart hammers and her palms sweat, but as Beau's eyes slide up and down her frame, a thrill of excitement has her confidence bolstered by the time they’re standing face to face. 

"Hi, Beau."

At the softness of the belated greeting, Beau looks at her conspiratorily, holding up her hand like she expects a hi-five. She doesn't know why she does it, but she feels lighter and freer than she did three hours ago, plus, she's pretty banged up and functioning on very, _very_ , little sleep. All those things factoring up are making a very poor decision center in her brain.

Jester looks at her like she's got three heads. She laughs even while slapping Beau's hand and surprises her by grabbing hold. "You're such a fucking nerd, Beau."

Beau grins widely, reciprocating Jester's hold on her fingers and tugging on their joined hands, feeling Jester slip her fingers out only to reach around to wrap her arms around Beau's waist in a slow-moving hug. Her shaky hands grabbing onto the smooth expositor robes. 

"I'm sorry I got all tapped out."

"It's okay, I get it. We can't all be in our prime, constantly, all the time," Beau says, her arms wrapping around Jester's shoulders, bringing her closer. She breathes out lightly, softly, as the tension leaves her body entirely.

Jester's quiet giggles get lost between the collar of Beau's robes and her neck and she tightens her grasp around her. They sway a bit on the spot, both warm and light, hearts beating deeply in the familiar comfort of each other's arms. Jester almost entirely forgets what happened earlier in the day, all that matters is the soothing weight of Beau's arms around her.

Wait. What happened the day before? Oh _right_ — "Beau! Your wounds! I can help you now!" She pushes herself away from Beau, immediately grabbing her hands to work the wrist wrappings off.

The monk frowns, disappointed at the loss of warmth. She lets Jester pull her downwards onto the soft soil. When the wraps are pulled back Jester tsk's at the gashes on her knuckles, then gasps at the slightly marred skin. The raw portions mean she suffered at least 1st-degree burns. Her fingers glow in a shimmery baby blue color, tracing the hurt on Beau's hands. 

"You're so strong, Beau. These look like they really hurt."

Beau raises her eyebrows, "Well, yeah." She raises her other arm and flexes, "That's why I waited last to get patched up. I can handle anything."

"Uh huh. It's totally not because we tapped out on our healing magic," Jester jokingly concedes. "Besides, we like to first heal people in our team that, you know, actually manage to hurt the bad guy and not themselves."

Beau smirks at the teasing, playing along, "I thought you said I was 'strong', not smart."

Jester huffs, setting her hand down once the skin had returned to its normal coloration, grabbing on to the other one, "You are _smart_ too, Beau."

She turns her head as her cheeks color just a little at the honest appreciation. "Noted."

As the skin before her heals, Jester quickly glances at Beauregard then back down at the wound on her hands. Beau is so incredible, unique and lovely. Jester can't believe she ever reduced her attraction to just her physical features. 

"Are you excited for the Spring Festival?"

Beauregard turns to watch as a fire lights in Jester, see's her smile toothily, eyes wide and excited, the tip of her tail flicking animatedly to from side to side. She talks with rapture at some times, demure at others. Beau notes it's mostly when she mentions her mother. 

"So what," Beau questions, "Does your mother... not like the spring season?"

"Oh—," The pitch in Jester's voice rises, as it does whenever she talks about her childhood, "My mother? Oh _no,_ Beau. Mama loves spring," she pauses, thinking of something as she purses her lips, "It's just...I wish I could have danced in those dances they had for the little children. Do you know them, Beau? The one where you braid your hair with flowers and you spin around and the flowers fall over you..." Jester goes quiet, missing the experiences she never had.

Seeing her obvious fall of mood, Beauregard feels the need to make her not feel that sadness. It tugs at her heart like nothing ever did, "Oh yeah? I heard of 'em. Trust me, you're not missing much."

Jester looks at her, forces a tight-lipped smile as she nods, "Of course, yeah. I was just thinking it would've been nice."

Oh shit. That was definitely not the right thing to say. Jester lets go of her hand and Beau opens and closes her fist a few times to test it. They both get up and she notices Jester looking at the pot she broke, lost in thought. _Aw, fuck. She's got the sad face on...shit, think, man!_ "You know," she starts awkwardly, "Who says you can't dance at the festival this year?"

Jester turns her head, eyes wide, "What?"

"Yeah, I mean," Beau scratches at the back of her neck in that adorably nervous way, "I could...dance with you? if you feel like it's dumb to be the only one?"

The smile that glows across the tiefling's face is so goddamn radiant that Beau felt ashamed to look at something so pure. "You would do that, Beau?"

Beau smirks cockily, "Of course. My talents aren't just punching things and looking good. There are a lot of things you don't about me."

The statement makes her laugh prettily and Beauregard swoons, "Okay. Like what?"

"Well," Beau grabs her chin between her fingers, pretending to think, "I'm very sophisticated when I want to be," she earns another laugh, "I've got so many friends. Charming people is my specialty, actually."

Entertaining her silliness, Jester nods in mock seriousness, "Oh yea, I really have to keep up with you because you're so busy with your friends."

Beau blinks. She smiles gently, "I'd send the world to hell to spend time with you." Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second, a spike of adrenaline rushing through her. _Too much, that was too much._

Luckily for her, Jester seemed to be looking down at the ground, bottom lip trapped between teeth, a hint of fang poking into it. She grabs her hands behind her back and her tail folds around her ankle. The flush in her cheeks sends Beau's heart spiraling to the heavens. 

"So how about it? Dancing sounds fun, right?"

"Yeah but," Jester says, smiling sweetly as she tilts her head to the side "Do you even like dancing?"

Beauregard hums, eyes never leaving Jester's, "No, but dancing with you doesn't sound so bad."

She watches Jester's widening smile, her eyes— _beautiful._ She reaches out, nudges her hand with her own, grabbing onto her pinky with hers. She doesn't even think there's a valid reason for her impulse other than that now she can touch Jester whenever she wants. Now she doesn't have to be afraid to seek her out.

Jester grabs onto her fingers again before Beauregard can retract them, holding them carefully while watching sapphire blue eyes soften further. She whispers, voice uncertain, "Is this okay?"

The monk grins widely, slipping her hand into a more comfortable, tight, grip. They remain linked like that, letting the quiet of the room settle between them. The chirps of crickets stridulating in the distant night time is amplified in the silence. 

A strangled yelp followed by a clear smashing of wood echoes across the green-house before they suddenly hear Fjord screaming, "Nott!" 

That effectively breaks them out of their trance. Jester giggles, they don't let go of their hands and instead move to stand closer. 

"So," Beauregard clears her throat, “Did you have fun while I wasn’t here? With Caduceus?"

"I mean he didn’t really talk to me much he was too focused on the flowers, but yeah, it was fun."

"He's prettier to look at least."

Jester pauses and looks at Beau with narrowed eyes, fighting a smile, recognizing the baited comment for what it is. She shrugs a moment later. "Maybe."

Beau scoffs, hitting Jester’s heel with the tip of her boot, failing to hold back the fondness in her eyes.

They hold each other’s gaze for a while again, both unable to look away. Beau’s eyes have a twinkle in them which... reminds her of what Caduceus said about the spring blossoms. That twinkle, which although she has yet to see because they will bloom at the end of the spring festival, she is sure is the same as the dew that will sparkle on the spring blossoms. Like stars in the night sky and— _no, what?_ She quickly whips herself around to look at the smashed remains of clay dumped in the vulgarly decorated new flower pot. She inhales deeply, trying to make sense of her thoughts.

"You okay?"

“Yes, I just remembered that I still have to finish painting the pot," she shrugs noncommittally," I mean I know he has a whole collection now that you told me about it but I would still like to, you know, give him a new one."

The monk lightly shakes her head up and down in understanding, missing the closeness between them.

"You should go back to our room and sleep, but then maybe we should definitely hang out later.”

Seeing the tiefling suddenly sit down and struggle to find her paintbrushes, she nods with a faint smile on her lips, "Okay. Goodnight Jessie."

Jester doesn't look at her, but the sweetness in her voice confirms the affection in her response, “Goodnight. I love you, Beau.”


	3. Chapter 3

Battles leave you _parched_. Especially ones that make you faint in a damp, _water-filled,_ cave where you can't drink any of the water because it's full of decapitated undead corpses withering in it. So making sure you hydrate is _very_ important but drinking just alcohol to quench your thirst is out of the question. Why? because being unconscious makes you lose your stomach for booze. You just went down, doesn't matter if you've healed up, you don't want to lose your mind again.

"Absolutely not, I will not have you tonight," Nott tucks her platinum flask back into her jacket and tries to figure out what she craves. She stays reclined against the headrest of her bed until she thinks of it. _Netherfruit juice!_

Oh yes, that would be perfect. Sometimes, Caduceus keeps sweet-smelling fruit around so that they can squeeze fresh, tangy, juice out from them. She remembers him talking about the healing properties behind them but all she cares about is that they taste absolutely divine.

Nott scurries off her bed, walking out into the common area, seeing Caduceus quietly talk to Caleb about something. She pays them no attention, intent on crossing over to the kitchen until she hears Caleb mention _feelings_ and _Beauregard_. 

Nott pauses, tense, then turns around, overhearing Caduceus's response. Out in her peripheral, she sees Beauregard speed-walking into the garden area. _Interesting..._

Seeing as neither Caleb or Caduceus noticed her standing there, she quietly stealths into the kitchen area, jumping up onto the counter. There, she grabs a bunch of moderately large, purple, fruit out of the basket they were in and begins to fix herself a glass of juice. 

Should she go follow Beau into the garden? What could she want there? Out of all of them, Beau rarely ever steps foot in the garden. Especially after Yasha came back and things had sort-of settled between the group. 

These questions itch at Nott, she wonders about it for a while and her eyes wander till they pause to look at the window that connects the garden and the kitchen. It's small, covered with a swinging wooden panel and is barely large enough to let her look through. Plus, the shelf below it looks dubious, too thin to support the jars full of jams randomly placed on it.

 _Maybe if I just—_ Nott shakes her head, "No!" then pointedly shakes the liquid in her tankard with a metal spoon, "Beauregard has expressed her demands clear and crystal. I will _not_ interfere."

She pulls out her tankard and absentmindedly spills a decent amount of alcohol into it. She takes a sip. " _But_ she didn't say I couldn't— I mean, _looking_ isn't the same as interfering, I'm sure."

Nott pauses for a minute, takes another sip, nods her head and then drinks down the entire tankard in big gulps, slamming it onto the counter. She feels the smooth tangy drink burn her gullet and lets the warmth settle pleasantly in her stomach. _So good_. As soon as the pleasant feeling subsides, she jumps up near the shelf and grabs the wood, dust falling off from the point where it is nailed to the wall, then hoists herself up easily.

Carefully tugging up the wooden cover, after maneuvering the jars in a way so that they won't wobble at every micro movement, Nott peers across the hole into the garden. 

The first thing she sees is the beautifully ornate marble vase placed against the wall, framed by moonlight. _Pretty_.

The second thing she sees is Beauregard and Jester wrapped around each other in a seemingly warm embrace, gently swaying from side to side. Nott smiles widely and her eyebrows rise, feeling giddy all over. _Well, this is a development_.

It was hard making out what they were saying to each other and Nott's ears twitched as she tried to make sense out of most of it. She took it all in, the soft looks, the giggling and the teasing, the way Jester delicately cradled Beau's hand in her own, looking at her with such adoration. "Oh, this might be more interesting than I thought," she whispers to herself.

Two friends can adore each other, sure, but are they really friends if they might harbor mutual feelings that transcend over the borders of what is considered friendly? _Nope_.

She observes Jester's change in mood and Beau's attempt at cheering her up, cringing at the monk's nonchalant reply, "Ooh bad move, Beau." Then, she hears Beau awkwardly offer to dance with her. Jester immediately brightens and the goblin finds herself thinking of the potential in their union. 

Nott ears perk up, leaning closer into the hole. She sees them flirting, dancing around their own feelings, act silly purely to entertain the other. The goblin puffs up, whispering out her encouragement, "Atta girl! Way to go, Beau!" 

There is something sweet about seeing two people express their liking to one another in Nott's eyes. Something that tugs at her heart, making her think of Yeza and his sweet, sweet, self. She sighs as they link pinkies, feeling sure of what she thinks Jester feels. Jester must reciprocate those feelings, otherwise, Beau is being led on to something that isn't there—

"You're doing a terrible job at hiding yourself."

Fjord's voice echoes over the empty kitchen area of the Xhorhaus and Nott panics, her body jumping as she barely manages to swallow her scream, "Dammit, Fjord!" 

The frantic movements cause the shelf below her to creak in protest.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing in suspicion, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing! I was just trying to find some rats!" Nott shrinks further into the small crevice on top of the shelf she tucked herself into, slamming the wooden cover back over the hole in the wall.

One side of half-orc's nose lifts, "In... the window?"

Her eyes widen, "Yes! I was looking and I was about to shoot them but—" she looks around apprehensively, eyes landing on the wooden cover behind her, "They went through the window!"

At that, Fjord perks up, "Wait, there are rats in the garden?" He immediately turns around to rush over and protect the hard work Caduceus put into the make-shift greenhouse, vehemently hissing his annoyance at the pests, " _Shit._ "

In a moment of panic, Nott reaches out and tries to jump off the shelf, "Oh, wait, no! Fjord—" her sudden movement makes the wood groan and before she could understand what was happening, she crashes down onto the ground with a resounding thud. Jars of precious jams fall with her, spreading different colored slop all over the floor. The gooey treats mix with glass shards and broken wood split cleanly in half. 

Fjord, who seemingly had reached the entryway, looks back at the sound of the raucous, "Nott!"

Luckily for Nott, she had dextrously landed on her feet, flinching a little at the sound of glass shattering, but she was okay. Once the damage had been done, she sheepishly looks around, then over at Fjord, "Mind lending me a hand?"

Fjord hesitates, looking at the mess and then back out to the common area. He looks about ready to decline until Nott suddenly crashes to the ground, yelping.

"My foot! Oh, my foot! It hurts!" She lets out a shrill yell that lacks the intensity of her usual yelling, "Fjord, something is in my foot!"

He panics at the desperate yelling, unsure of what to do but rushing over nonetheless, mindful of the glass spread over the floor, "How— What happened? Where does it hurt?"

Instead of answering, Nott grabs onto her boot covered feet and folds over in a fetal position, shaking slightly, "I can't— it's too much!"

Not second-guessing his decisions, he picks her up and hoists her body over his shoulder, rushing out into the common area towards Caduceus, "Nott's hurt!"

Caleb's eyes fly open and he springs to life, hurriedly making his way over, "What happened?" He takes her now limp body in his arms and gently goes down on his knees to carefully examine her.

"Did this have something to do with the crash?" Caduceus calmly inquires.

"Yes, the shelf broke and— _shit,_ is she unconscious _?—_ she started screaming. I don't know how it—"

"Nott, open your eyes!"

The two of them immediately turn at the distress in Caleb's voice, seeing him grab her face with one hand, smooshing her cheeks and shaking her head frantically. Nott's tongue lolled out of her mouth and she didn't move, seemingly frozen. 

"Put her on the table," Caduceus instructs, "I have just enough magic to heal her if need be."

Caleb nods and places her on the table, shoving the dirty tankards off. 

Just as Caduceus's hands glow in shimmery green energy, Beauregard comes out of the greenhouse to look at the scene in front of her: Nott, lying seemingly unconscious, Fjord and Caleb looking as if they have shit themselves and Caduceus charging up a healing spell.

"What are you— What happened to Nott?" She dashes towards them, "She okay?"

Caleb shakes his head, face contorted in anguish at the second time he sees his dear friend unmoving, "No, we don't know what happened but Caduceus is going to—"

A dramatic scream interrupts Caleb as Nott bursts up from her position on the table, her head colliding with Caduceus's glowing hands. She breathes heavily, placing her hand on her heart, "I'm alive!" 

The rest of the Nein around her look stupefied, as though Nott had turned into a giant toad. Caleb let's out a sigh of relief but he looks weathered, clearly exasperated at his friend. "What. Happened."

"Well I," Nott twiddles her fingers, shakily continuing, "I kind of fell and hit my head?"

Fjord confusedly scrunches his nose, mildly annoyed at what had just transpired, "Your head? I thought it was your foot?"

"Did I say that? Oh yes, I did, didn't I?"

A moment later, Nott gave a shit-eating grin, snickering towards Fjord. It was at that point that the Nein realize that she was probably messing around with him. 

"What the fuck, Nott?!" Beauregard exclaims.

They grill her over the ridiculousness of the prank and ask her to not pull shit like that anymore. Nott didn't care, though. She was silently pleased with herself for keeping Fjord out of the garden, reveling in her internal pride over her wing-woman skills.

"Is everything alright?" They turn to see Yasha poking her head out of her room, eyes droopy and voice heavy. She was clearly woken from a deep sleep. 

"Nothing! I promise not to do it again goodnight!" with that, Nott runs over back to her room, winking at Beauregard conspiratorially before she does so. 

Caleb sighs, going in after her, "Goodnight, everyone."

* * *

Life in the Xhorhaus stayed the same for the following week. The only notable routine is set by Caduceus, who obsessively tends to the spring blossom flower, preferring to stay close to it rather than eat or drink or sleep. Which makes sense because they risked their lives on a mission for him and that dumb flower, anyways. There must be something special about it for Caduceus to express such urgency to get it and care for it.

Yasha moves in and out of the Xhorhaus, the shadow of what happened at the Cathedral dealt with in the past. Though, sometimes the haunting pressure of what she did increases and in those moments she is thankful for her friends, who each offer her their own unique way of comforting her. She most appreciates Yeza, who was still intimidated by her to a degree. He offered her consistent, stable, company; something she was extremely grateful for.

Jester employs Nott and Yeza’s help in making strings of flowers to decorate their home with. Fjord and Beau occasionally lend a hand if the former two got tired from weaving thread and stem together.

As the festival draws closer the more flowers adorn every surface of the Xhorhouse. Fjord makes trips to the docks to get fresh catch of the day, cooking it to perfection for the Mighty Nein every night. He also tries to busy himself with Caduceus, dedicated to learning as much as he can about the principals of a Paladin of Melora. It becomes overwhelming at times when he can’t bring himself to be as devout as Caduceus when tending to the creations of the Wildmother but the grave cleric assures him that Melora will call to his heart in ways that best suit his destiny. Plus, his generally self-assured disposition always manages to soothe the feelings of incompetence that crawl onto him.

Beauregard chose to drill herself for hours to refresh her control over her body. She was either found in her room, upside down on her bed trying to read whatever book was lying around or she was seen beating straw-filled practice dummies till they tore up in the training room. Her access energy also probably due to the fact that she was peacocking. That much was obvious. Whenever Jester would pass by the training room, her body grew tenser, movements more ostentatious and excessive, trying to get a reaction out of the tiefling. Every time she did so, Jester awarded her with a laugh that charged her up for all the energy she wasted.

That, and well…Beau went away at nights into the local taverns to ask around about the spring dance. Luckily for her, people were kind enough to not question why a young adult was asking around about the steps to a dance that mostly children and teens participate in. There was a dragonborn barkeep in particular who enthusiastically re-enacted the steps, holding Beau captive until she got most of it right. By the end of it all, Beauregard could dance the fairly complicated twists, turns and twirls without looking like an absolute idiot.

Caleb, much like Beau, spends a significant amount of his time sharpening his skills and updating his arcane knowledge. He was very curious about the flower, as he sensed strange conjuration magic surrounding the plant. Caduceus asked him politely to not fiddle with the flower, assuring him that it is not a vessel that harbors evil and that protecting this flower means a lot to him. It was to ‘maintain balance’.

What would a flower found in a cave surrounded by the undead possibly bring? Not good things, Caleb suspects. Still, he trusts his friend enough to respect his wishes and not question the magical plant further.

On the day the festival was set, even Yasha was pleased at the idea of attending. It seemed as if days of combat and panic and near-death experiences are rewarded with fruits, flowers, colors, and happiness at the festival of spring. They earned that much, at least.

The Mighty Nein were all dressed in their usual attire, with the addition of flowers weaved in their hair, ready to attend the much-anticipated event. With the exception of Beau and Jester, who wore the traditional clothes that they got from the committee for the spring festival dance. Beauregard wore cream-colored monk robes designed with maroon thread in intricate floral patterns, dark maroon sash holding them in place over dark maroon pants, shoeless except cream ankle-wraps. Jester was dressed in a flowy dark maroon dress with shoulderless sleeves that reached her elbow before splitting into the same fall of her regular outfit, exposing her forearms. Her dress was also patterned with cream-colored thread.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us, Caduceus?”

He raises his hand and brings a tea-cup to his face, sipping the contents slowly, never looking away from the flower, continuing to stare at it unblinkingly, “No, Jester. I must tend to the spring blossom. It is late to bloom. If I do not care for it, the consequences will be severe.”

Jester nods hesitantly, “Okay, if you’re sure. We’ll bring back lots of sweets for you!”

“Thank you. Please bring back some honey. I am running out of it for my tea.”

She yells a confirmation for the request as she runs down the stairs, seeing the others have already gone except for Beau, who is casually leaning against the entrance, arms folded and one foot put up against the wall behind her.

Beau hears the stomping on the stairs and turns, smirking at Jester’s excitement, “Ready for the dance?”

She nods and then loops her arm around Beau’s elbow, “The others left already?”

“Yeah, they figured they’d go find seats.”

They begin walking out, “You sure _you’re_ ready for this, Beau?”

Her chest puffs up, the confidence in her voice seeping through, “Of course. No take-backs. Besides,” she winks, “you could say I’m more than ready.”

Jester smiles at the wink but then looks at her confusedly for a moment. She chooses not to comment on it and instead walk in silence towards the sound of music distantly thrumming in the air.

The Gallimayfry district was absolutely beautiful, the joviality more amplified in the celebration of spring. Flowers and plants decorated everywhere they looked, where even some vendors choose to serve food on top of thick leathery leaves. The smell of spices and sweetness contrasted in the air, making their mouth water and pulling them everywhere at once. Music played by bards big and small, with even instruments never before seen.

The performers expertly wielded staffs of fire and dancers twirled in the same traditional clothes the two girls were wearing. Onlookers tossed flowers and cheered, while others were busy participating in the local games and stalls. The spring festival was alight and one could get overstimulated immediately with the amount of energy and colors that were there.

Jester lets go of Beau’s hand and sprints into the fray of things, laughing heartily as she does. She talks to the vendors and the other girl rolls her eyes at the overly dramatic bargaining tactics the tiefling uses. It works mostly on the younger stall-keeps, who immediately seek to gain the favor of this charming tiefling but then shrink away at the weight of the glare Beau sends their way behind Jester.

One particular stall catches their eye and Beau relents when Jester begs them to go check it out before the dance. It sold mostly hair accessories of all kinds. Ribbons, metal bands, even some woodwork among the array of wares. One ribbon embroidered with the designs of the prettiest blue flowers was the prize of the stall and it was that very accessory that caught Jester’s eye.

Of course, upon hearing the price, Jester nervously looked away over at the smaller metal clips with feathers on their sides, pretending to be interested on them instead.

Beauregard felt her heartbeat accelerate. If Jester wanted it, she’s going to damn well make sure she gets it.

The vendor hustles her, testing her patience to the point she has none left.

“You know I would love to give you the ribbon but it is made of the finest silk, the finest thread! My business is not a loving mistress and I would hate to disappoint her by a poor bargain, my friend.”

Jester gently touches Beau’s shoulder, smiling at her efforts. Beau cares so deeply, so much that she’d absolutely fight this guys over something as small as a headband. Jester feels her heart flutter when Beau looks over at her, “It’s okay, Beau. Let’s go get to the dance, it’s going to start anytime now.” With that, she turns around and makes her way to the elevated wooden platform in the middle of the festival.

“You’re a huge bastard, Stephan.”

“Yes, but I am a rich bastard, young one,” the pot-bellied tiefling laughs, his greying hair falling over his forehead.

“Fuck you.” She presses several coins firmly into his palm and snatches the ribbon from its display, wrapping it up and stuffing it in the pocket hidden in her robes. His reply is lost to her as she dashes towards Jester, flipping him off over her shoulder in the process.

The platform was surrounded by several benches and chairs set up in neat rows, decorated by flowers and vines of all shapes and sizes. Beauregard gets nervous as she steps up onto the platform and sees the growing crowd around her. The rest of the Nein are sitting in the front row seats, various treats in hand. She sees Fjord and Caleb share Dragonfire popcorn between them while Yasha munches away at bits of roasted meat. Yeza reaches out to hold Nott’s hand and adoringly presses a kiss to her temple. Watching them makes Beau turn away, stomach feeling queasy as the first thing in her head that popped up at the affectionate display was how much she wanted that to be her and Jester.

 _Focus!_ If this were a fight, she’d be way more in her element. But something about the gravity of disappointing Jester and her childhood wish really put the pressure on Beau. She gulped. _Oh shit, this was a terrible idea, Jester is going to hate me and she’s never going to ask me to do anything ever again and-_

The sound of Jester’s laughter snap Beau out of her downward spiral. She turns to look at her and her heart constricts, because Jester is kneeling, surrounded by children wearing similar outfits as them, excitedly chatting and trying to impress her. She looks beautiful and full of joy that is indescribable. Jester is so _beautiful_ and Beauregard doesn’t know what to do with herself.

So she walks over, dumbfounded, not a thought in her mind as she stands in front of her. Jester pauses, as do the kids around her, and looks at Beau with wide eyes. Her mouth slowly forms the sweetest smile that Beau immediately wants to kiss. But she can’t. So instead, she just reaches her hand out, waiting for Jester to grab on to it.

The minute Beauregard feels Jester’s fingers thread around her own, she helps her stand up and pulls her close. They fail to notice the baby-pink petals that start to fall around them constantly from an unknown magical source. They fail to notice the giggling children, or the announcer introducing the history of the dance to the audience.

Jester speaks, voice barely audible, “Thank you for doing this with me, Beau.”

The monk gulps, feeling Jester peer into the deepest parts of herself, her heart relentlessly pounding in her chest. She feels _seen_. She doesn’t waver, her voice doesn’t rise a volume above a whisper, “Anything. For you, anything.”

Jester doesn’t blush, she isn’t surprised at the admittance because she gets it. She would also do anything for Beauregard. No matter the cost. She smiles, squeezes the hand in her own and carefully extracts herself from Beau’s personal space, eyes never leaving hers. Then, she starts to move to the sound of the music that begins to play.

Beau was so enraptured that she didn’t see the people start to stand in their positions, or the bards lining up in the middle of the platform, instruments ready nearby. She shakes her head, ridding herself of the fuzziness in her brain and begins to dance, stepping forward and spinning from left to right energetically.

Luckily for them, they don’t look too out of place, blending in with the taller teenagers just on the brink of adulthood. The dance was youthful and energetic, full of jumps and twirling and barely any contact with another person. The cheers of the onlookers encouraged them, the flowers falling tenfold now and making the platform rise an inch off the ground with how many fell on the surface of it.

She never thought it would’ve been this fun. With Jester right there a few feet in front of her, she felt like a child, dancing in a field of flowers, letting the music of spring envelope her body.

Jester couldn’t help but close her eyes and let herself loose in the rhythm of the music, dancing with a spring in her step, feeling the Traveler’s presence there behind her, copying her movements just as enthusiastically. Even the music was phenomenally orchestrated, as the rise and fall of the tunes the bards played were in perfect harmony with the jumps and bows of the dancers.

Soon enough, after a good fifteen minutes of expressive movements, the dance concluded with a collective bow to the audience, where some of the kids collapsed on top of the petals while others picked them up and tossed them in the air again. The crowd rose in cacophonous applause, cheering for the youth. The music picked up once more when everyone who wanted to dance on the stage climbed up as the dancers jumped off of it.

Beauregard and Jester climbed off, meeting the rest of the Nein that praised them for their dance.

Caleb and Yasha offered encouraging smiles to Jester, both absolutely endeared at the happiness she exudes. Fjord, however, slammed his heavy hand down on Beau’s back in a friendly pat, knocking the breath out of her, “Good job.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

The more the Nein continue to praise them the more awkward Beauregard was starting to feel. She didn’t like hiding this…this huge caving feeling in her heart. She didn’t know how to act with all eyes on her. There was this… _need_ to hide why she danced, that she did this all purely to make Jester feel like she wasn’t alone. That she wanted to be the one that supports her with this childhood wish that she never got to experience.

Beau wanted to scream it out but she couldn’t. They’d find out in an instant and Jester is a _friend_. _Act cool, act cool, act cool._ “Yeah, alright it was whatever.”

Her forced indifference was picked up by Caleb, who looks confused at the sudden change in Beauregard’s demeanor. The monk starts to shift nervously, looking at the ground and avoiding eye-contact with her companions as if her life depends on it.

When she still didn’t say a word, Jester’s brows furrowed. “Beau? I thought it was pretty great. I thought you were pretty great.”

Beauregard still doesn’t turn her head to look at them. Her voice barely reaches them, “Thank you, Jester. I’m glad you think that.”

Nott and Yeza were walking hand-in-hand through the crowd to make their way over to the stalls that sold spiced fish skewered on wooden sticks, while Fjord moved farther in the front to talk to one of the organizers of the festival. Yasha seemed impartial to what was happening around her, keeping to herself and contemplating. Which means, it was only Caleb who noticed the sheer amount of adoration in Beau’s voice. And he, in consideration for what he had just figured out, tried to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible.

So that is what Caduceus had meant. He sees the effort Beauregard was putting in hiding the way she felt and his chest constricted in sympathy. Maybe she hasn’t come to terms with how she feels after all.

Jester let Beauregard nudge the flower petals and is looking down at the monk’s feet. “Thank you _,_ Beau. I probably wouldn’t have had as much fun if you weren’t here. I love you for doing this for me.”

Beauregard feels her words clog up in her throat, her heart feeling as if it were bleeding out the last of its life. She bristles. That doesn’t feel right. This isn’t _right_.

So she clears her throat and tries her best to not let her voice waver, “I’m going to go back home. Forgot something.”

“What? Beau, where are you—," The tiefling's question stops mid-way as Beau leaves, hastily weaving her way through the bustling crowd around them.

Jester stands there confused, turning to Caleb and Yasha. Yasha shrugs, then crosses her arms, looking far-away into the crowd over at the flower wreath display. The wizard, however, was less than prepared to handle the crestfallen look upon Jester's face. He gulped nervously, "I guess that leaves us to explore the festival a bit, _ja_?"

Wrapping her arms around herself to ease this streak of loneliness that crept up on her when Beauregard left, Jester looked around, lost in her own self. She sighs dejectedly, "Yeah, I guess you're right..."

"I want to check that flower-wreath stall over there. They look like they have some good pieces I could buy," Yasha suggests gently as if she sensed Jester's unease.

Jester looks at the ground, a prominent frown on her features. She looked thoroughly bothered for a reason she couldn't explain. Her feelings were incomprehensible, feeling like static and blurring her thoughts. 

The wizard nods, on board with this plan, "I will accompany you in this."

"You guys go on ahead, I'll catch up."

There's a look of uncertainty that crosses his face, "You are certain?"

"Yeah, go on, I'll catch up."

Before she could tell the others how she truly felt about this whole situation, she was quickly shut down by guttural clearing of their throat. 

"Well 'scuse me little miss," the large dragonborn very lightly warbled, "Are you by any chance of the Lavorre name?"

"Umm..." Jester looked stupefied, unsure of how he knew who she was, " _Yes_?" 

Two rows of well-kept yellowing teeth peeked through his leathery mouth as he gave a toothy smile, "Good!" he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, taking out a receipt, "Do you know Beauregard?"

"Beau? Oh yes, she's my best friend."

There's a pause and then dragonborn perks up, "Oh?" He lowers the receipt and goes into a burst of boisterous laughter that echoes loudly in the air, "Well, I'll be! You're the 'best friend' she's been up dancing like a mad-woman for?"

At that, Jester perks up, "What?"

"Oh yes!" He settles down his mirth, leaning closer to take a good look at Jester, "Oh praise the Changebringer, you're as pretty as she described!"

A pretty flush covers Jester's cheeks and she smiles slowly, "She said I was pretty?"

"Was all that girl ever talked about! I shuffled at least a dozen tankards her way before she went all woozy. Kept talkin' about how you deserve the world. You must be brilliant."

Jester flushes, the words barely registering in her head. Did Beau really say that? 

"Don't go thinkin' too hard, now," the dragonborn unplugs Beau's staff from his weapon holster and hands it to Jester, "She forgot this at the inn. Poor thing didn't sit for a minute. Kept on practicing till she dropped."

"Really?"

He gives a nod, “Made a fool out of herself but it all paid off, didn’t it? I’m curious, though,” He turned his thick scaly head towards where Beau had left, “Why did she leave so soon?”

“She forgot something at home and I guess she really really needs it.”

White draconic forearms cross themselves in a stern look. “Well, I guess I’ll be off. Do me service and give her back this Staff? One of mine broke it and he offered to fix it just as new. Which you can see he did a good job at.”

Jester felt numb. When had Beauregard started dancing? Why would she dance for her when she didn’t know how to? How much did she practice to get those movements perfect? It made no sense. So yeah, why would someone as beautiful and kind and smart and brash as Beauregard do something that she wouldn’t do? It made no sense.

“This receipt has your name on it, so I would appreciate you takin’ this from my hands,” he hands her the receipt.

The tiefling was barely listening, overthinking everything. Why would…? Beauregard did all these sweet things for her, she has always been so tender towards Jester, always so ready to do anything she would ask for. Then there was her smile, her goofy cockiness that acts as a mask to her lack of self-confidence. Her beautiful eyes, so wonderful to catch with her own violet ones. _I could stare into them forever if she’d let me_. Beauregard was so beautiful, she was the perfect dichotomy of strong and sweet. She’s brash yet caring. The things that she does for Jester, the things that she does in general, never cease to make the tiefling adore her. Jester knew she'd always be there for her, just as Beau would be for her because Beauregard was amazing and Jester loves her so much and— _wait_.

A prominent chill went up Jester’s spine, like an electric wave flowing all through the vertebrae. She tensed, body going rigid as the metaphorical anvil that dropped on her. Her eyes widened, realization striking her to her very core.

She loves Beauregard.

No, that doesn’t sound right. She _loves_ Beauregard. She’s _in love_ with her. With her _best friend_.

Jester's mouth opens up in shock, her right hand slowly moving to cover it with her fingers. It takes her a while, the dragonborn continuing to talk in the background, but she finally comes back to earth with her realization. Nothing other than heart-palpitations were the reason for why her heart suddenly started to throb deep in her chest.

“Uh…Miss Lavorre? Are you alight?”

Jester looked manic, smiling like she had just run away from vandalizing a sacred temple, her entire body energized and renewed with adrenaline. She laughs, completely youthful, a joyous melodic sound that rings in the air (even turning a few curious stares her way). “I’m fine!” She turns and dashes in the direction of the Xhorhaus.

Of course! How could she be so blind, so immune to recognizing the signs for what they were? Romance has always been hard for Jester but this was _Beau_. She might not know what love is but she does know what love means to her. And it's the love she has for her best friend who might have feelings for her. Jester feels like she'd known all this time, felt it grow into something much bigger than either of them expected. It was just clear as day now. Out on the surface and not buried deep within her subconscious. 

She doesn’t hear or see or smell anything. Not the sound of the dragonborn calling her name or the enthusiasm of the festival-goers around her, not the music or food or clothes or flowers. There was fire under her feet and in her heart and though she might not know exactly what she would say or what she would do, Jester's impulses tell her to run to her. Nothing could wait, there was no doubt about it. This was her _best friend_ and she trusts her the most. 

* * *

The Xhorhaus was a decent distance away but not so far that she would get exhausted while running. It takes her a while but as soon as the building is visible to her Jester accelerates, forcing her muscles to push her faster to where her heart was leading her. The door gets slammed open and she rushes up the stairs, yelling out Beau's name. 

However, once she opens her room, Beauregard is nowhere to be seen. Jester frowns. _Where are you?_

She looks around for a while, feeling her tail flick nervously at the eery silence in the Xhorhaus. Just when she was about to panic, she remembers Caduceus staying at home in his garden. 

"Hey Caduceus, have you seen Beau? She came here to get something—," Jester stops dead in her tracks and gasps when she enters the Garden, completely stunned at the sight before her. 

There, on the floor near the mushroom patch lies Caduceus, his eyes rolled to the back of his skull, his body contorting to impossible angles. He writhes at the pain coursing through his body. In front of him, the ornate marble vase lies smashed to bits, blackened tarry soil mixing with the earth set there. The flower is floating directly above it as if it is held by an invisible force, simmering in glittery spectral light that flickers on and off.

Jester picks up her feet, trying to move but feels rooted to the spot where she stood. She looks down and curses loudly as her feet were being encompassed by a sentient black sludge that's grappling her onto the floor. Before she could bend down to remove the vile substance, she feels a prick at the side of her neck. It stings, then sizzles and then spreads white-hot pain at alarming speeds. The tiefling panics, covering her neck with her hands but she could not scream. Her voice lodges itself in her throat and she succumbs to the all-consuming pain, falling to her knees and losing consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a rad day ya’ll!


End file.
